"I've been in many much vurser sitivations," observed Ginger, "and I alvays found the best vay to get out on 'em wos to take things quietly."
"Besides, there's no help for it," said the Tinker, seating himself.
"That remains to be seen," observed the Sandman, taking the chair opposite Thorneycroft. "If Reeks don't come back soon, I'll bust open the door."
"Plenty o' time for that," said Ginger, sauntering towards the table on which the provisions were spread; "wot do you say to a mouthful o' wittles?"
"I wouldn't touch 'em for the world," replied the Sandman.
"Nor I," added the Tinker; "they may be pisoned."
"Pisoned—nonsense!" cried Ginger; "don't you see some von has been a-takin' his supper here? I'll jist finish it for him."
"Vith all my 'art," said the Tinker.
"Don't touch it on any account," cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "I agree with your companions, it may be poisoned."
"Oh! I ain't afeerd," cried Ginger, helping himself to a dish before him. "As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr. Thorneycroft," he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. "My service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!" drawing a long breath after the draught, and smacking his lips with amazing satisfaction. "Never tasted sich a glass o' wine in all my born days," he continued, replenishing the goblet: "I wonder wot it's called?"